The king led the way and Zoroaster gravely followed.  They passed down the staircase by which the queen had gone, and entering the low passage, came to the small door which she had bolted behind her with so much difficulty.  The king pushed his weight against it, but it was still fastened.

“Thou art stronger than I, Zoroaster,” he said, with a deep laugh.  “Open the door.”

The young warrior pushed heavily against the planks, and felt that one of them yielded.  Then, standing back, he dealt a heavy blow on the spot with his clenched fist; a second, and the plank broke in.  He put his arm through the aperture, and easily slipped the bolt back, and the door flew open.  The blood streamed from his hand.

“That is well done,” said Darius as he entered.  His quick eye saw something white upon the stone bench in the dusky corner by the door.  He stooped and picked it up quickly.  It was the sealed scroll Atossa had left there when she needed both her hands to draw the bolt.  Darius took it to one of the narrow windows, looked at it curiously and broke the seal.  Zoroaster stood near and wiped the blood from his bruised knuckle.

The contents of the scroll were short.  It was addressed to one Phraortes, of Ecbatana in Media, and contained the information that the Great King had returned in triumph from Babylon, having subdued the rebels and slain many thousands in two battles.  Furthermore, that the said Phraortes should give instant information of the queen’s affairs, and do nothing in regard to them until further intimation arrived.

The king stood a moment in deep thought.  Then he walked slowly down the corridor, holding the scroll loose in his hand.  Just at that instant Atossa emerged from the dark staircase, and as she found herself face to face with Darius, she uttered an exclamation and stood still.

“This is very convenient place for our interview,” said Darius quietly.  “No one can hear us.  Therefore speak the truth at once.”  He held up the scroll to her eyes.

Atossa’s ready wit did not desert her, nor did she change colour, though she knew her life was in the balance with her words.  She laughed lightly as she spoke: 

“I came down the stairs this morning——­”

“To see the most beautiful woman in the world,” interrupted Darius, raising his voice.  “You have seen her.  I am glad of it.  Why did you bolt the door of the passage?”

“Because I thought it unfitting that the passage to the women’s apartments should be left open when so many in the palace know the way,” she answered readily enough.

“Where were you taking this letter when you left it at the door?” asked the king, beginning to doubt whether there were anything wrong at all.

“I was about to send it to Ecbatana,” answered Atossa with perfect simplicity.

“Who is this Phraortes?”

“He is the governor of the lands my father gave me for my own in Media.  I wrote him to tell him of the Great King’s victory, and that he should send me information concerning my affairs, and do nothing further until he hears from me.”